Cut, Tease, Better Believe
by sacrenoirr
Summary: Yes, he wanted to say. Because poetry is the only way to encompass all he felt, for this, for her. Art needed to be complimented with art. Slowly, he pulled her hands away from her face, and kissed her, kissed those soft lips that held the secret to his conversion. The kiss melted like chocolate in his mouth, sweet, and always making him crave more.


**A/N: **All characters are owned by the BBC. This can either be interpreted as like a sequel to "My Cold Desire" or separate. Whatever floats your boat. Reviews are love!

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Her nose scrunched up, her bottom lip turning into a brighter red as she bit harder down on it. She smiled, like she knew the secret of the world. She smiled letting the joy reach her hazel eyes round and wide. Her makeup was wiped off her face a long long time ago but he didn't know why she needed it, she was radiant even by moonlight. She was giddy, he could tell. He could feel her heart beat quicken, not hear, _feel._ His fingers rested lightly on her neck and he felt the steady rhythm of her mixed with his own.

God, he missed this.

God, he loved this.

God, he loved her.

It was a mantra, one that slowly restored his faith in the almighty and omniscient higher being that he had once spurned. It was all because of her, all because her lips carried a secret, the secret of how to destroy and create man with those heavenly soft lips.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts, thoughts of her, thoughts of their new life.

He had told her all this before, told her since he saw his reflection in the mirror, told her after their first night in bed together. He told her all that, but he wanted to say it all again. Because it was the truth, his truth.

He took a hold of her hand, brought it to his lips as he began, "Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way to walk, and pass our long love's day."

The smile returned. "Well, I can picture that day involving us, staying inside these four walls," she teased, moving closer to him.

A chuckle. He continued, "Thou by the Indian Ganges' side shouldst rubies find; I by the tide of Humber would complain. I would love you ten years before the Flood; and you should, if you please, refuse till the conversion of the Jews."

Perhaps he expected her to flush by the recitation, fawn over the romance in the words although the context of the poem was not, she didn't know that or he assumed she wouldn't. But instead, the smile faded and she pursed those lips and furrowed her brow. What was are you thinking, he wanted to ask but knew he didn't need to, knew she was mulling over this poetry.

"It's an old poem, yeah? Lots of shouldst and thous." Propping herself up on her other arm, he watched the sheet that drape her like a Grecian goddess fall. His eyes trailed, admired the sight. She was the quintessence of art, the one men would move mountains for, the one _he _would die for.

Lightbulb. Her smile stretched and those stars that were her eyes grew. "You're quoting Shakespeare on me, aren't you? One of his romantic ones. A play? Is it Romeo and Juliet?" He let her ponder for a bit. She mused over Hamlet and Macbeth, romantic she classified them. Those are more political than romantic, he interrupted. There was some loving going on there somewhere, she retorted. He rolled his eyes. Of course.

When her thoughts strayed too far, he brought her back by continuing. "My vegetable love should grow vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise thine eyes," he whispered and leaned in and let her eyes flutter down as he kissed both lids once before pulling away but not so far. "And on thy forehead gaze." He brushed her hair out of the way slowly away and leaned in and kissed her gently on her forehead.

Her breath hitched ever so slightly and ever so quietly. Breathless, she interrupted again, "I'm really digging this poem."

His lips tugged into a smile again. Wrapping his arms around her now, he slowly turned them, placing himself on top of her. God, he loved her, loved how she cupped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"God," she said. "Is this what it's going to be like every day? Reciting poetry as foreplay?"

Yes, he wanted to say. Because poetry is the only way to encompass all he felt, for this, for her. Art needed to be complimented with art. Slowly, he pulled her hands away from her face, and kissed her, kissed those soft lips that held the secret to his conversion. The kiss melted like chocolate in his mouth, sweet, and always making him crave more. Edging away from her lips, he trailed down her neck still with that haunting beat, and he continued kissing until he reached her breasts. Aphrodite would be envious, he thought though he did not say because she knew, he was certain of it.

"Two hundred to adore each breast." His lips kissed and grazed one and repeated with the other. Her fingers reached up and curled into his hair.

This was torturing her, he knew it. Her body twisted slightly underneath him. He looked up at her, made sure their eyes locked, made sure those wide and round hazel eyes saw him continue. "But thirty thousand to the rest," His lips trailed lower, down her stomach, down her legs, down, down, down.

"Hal," those lips murmured. He smirked, lips against her thigh. He thought the call of his name was a plea, to end this already. He always thought he knew her so well, thought he always knew what she wanted, thought he had her figured out just like she thought she had him. But it would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy her unique trait of surprising him when he least expected, especially when his lips were so close. "Hal," she called again. "Stop."

He did like a soldier following his command. Lifting his head, his eyes caught her again. "I want to hear the whole poem."

What, he wanted to say. "What?"

She sat up and kept her eyes steady as she watched him move away from her thigh. "The poem, I'm not going to be properly wooed until I hear it all." Something wasn't right. He could sense it. Her eyes gave off a glint. What was she doing?

Now, he stuttered, losing the smooth and seductive composure he had maintained just mere seconds ago.

Damn her.

Damn her.

Damn her.

This was his new mantra.

How did the rest go? Oh yes, worms, not quite the seductive image he was going for. Maybe he should have gone with Shakespeare instead. Sliding onto the bed again next to her, he said, "But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; and yonder all before us lie deserts of vast eternity. They beauty shall no more be found, nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound my echoing song."

"Well that's incredibly sexist, Hal."

"It's not my-"

"Don't care, keep going." Oh God, what has he done?

She would hate him even more for this. Perhaps he should stop before he found residence on the settee tonight. "Alex, maybe I should-"

"You started it, Hal. How does the rest of the poem go?"

Why was she so infuriatingly stubborn? This was certainly not a battle he was going to win. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he did as she commanded."Then worms shall try that long preserv'd virginity, and your quaint honour turn to dust, and into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace."

Silence. His mind flurried for appropriate apologies. He was going to resort to the _I promise you that's not my poem. I was just reciting it. I only meant to recite the first stanza. It was supposed to be a compliment. Please don't make me leave._ There was certainly a lot of begging and pleading, perhaps a dash of tears would do the trick too.

But those lips moved, slowly and quietly at first, whispered something like in a dream. "Alex?" he feared the worst but not sure what. As his hand tenderly reached out to touch her neck, she turned to look at him. That's when he heard the words.

"Now therefore, while the youthful hue sits on thy skin like morning dew, and while they willing soul transpires at every pore with instant fires," her lips hypnotized him, her words hypnotized him, her slow panther like movements hypnotized him. His work of art now moved and he could only stare. He could only watch her as she pressed him down onto the bed, head landing softly onto the pillows, watched as she moved to straddle him now. Those lips turning into a Cheshire grin.

Damn her.

Damn her.

Damn her.

"Now let us sport us while we may; and now like am'rous birds of prey, rather at once our time devour, than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all our sweetness, up into one ball; and tear our pleasures with rough strife thorough the iron gates of life." She leaned down and let those soft lips hover just above his. Damn her.

"Thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run." Her breath caressed his lips, made it quiver like it used to when he craved blood. Now, he craved her. Damn her.

"Next time, Hal," she whispered. "Choose Shakespeare instead, ok?"

He didn't ask how she knew Marvell's poem. Could he even speak? But later, he learned the breadth of knowledge she had accumulated under her belt while at Uni, learned that he could never figure her out, never would, never wanted to.

"Hal?"

_Ok_, he wanted to say but the word became lost in his mind. Damn her.


End file.
